The Family Secret
by Notime33
Summary: A genealogist has tracked down Clara...but what does he want from the Browns?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Saturday, June 2, 2001  
10:47 A.M.  
Hill Valley, California

"Just a second!"

Clara shouted at the ringing telephone in vain as she ran from the living room of the Brown mansion to the kitchen. Just one ring before the machine would have picked it up, Clara answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hello, is this the home of Dr. Emmett Brown?" came a male voice on the other end.

"Who is this?"

The man cleared his throat, "My name is Jim Door. I'm a genealogist from Seattle. I happen to be in the Hill Valley area today, and I believe that Doctor Brown is my third cousin. I would like to meet him. Who is this?"

"I'm Clara, his wife. Could you hold on just a second?"

"Certainly."

Clara left and walked over to Doc's office and clock room, which was located directly next to the spacious living room.

Clara knocked softly at the door.

"Come in," Doc said after a moment.

Clara peeked into the office. Doc was bent over a prototype autovac, an automatic, robotic vacuum that was nearing its public debut.

"What is it, dear?" he said.

"There's a phone call for you," Clara said, "A man who says he's your third cousin. He would like to meet you."

"Third cousin?" Doc thought briefly about his family tree. Third cousins shared great-great grandparents, of which every person has sixteen. A rather distant relationship for someone to be interested in, as far as Doc was concerned. Perhaps it was Doc's fame.

Doc turned to the phone to his left and picked it up, "I have it dear. Hello?"

"Doctor Brown?" came the high-pitched male voice on the other end, "Did your wife explain who I am?"

"Yes," Doc said as Clara closed the door, "But I don't have your name."

"Jim Door," the man said, "And boy, am I glad I found you!"

"Indeed," Doc said, frowning. He couldn't remember any "Doors" in his family, but marriage could account for that. "How are we related, precisely?"

"Third cousins," Door said.

"I mean, can you be a little more specific?"

Door hesitated as a click came across the line—likely Clara hanging up the other end. Door said, "I'm descended from your mother's mother's mother's mother's mother's sister," he said slowly, as if counting the number off of his fingers, "Do you know a lot about your family history?" He sounded nervous about the prospect.

"Unfortunately, no," Doc said, "I don't think I even have the resources to find the name of that relative."

"That would be, uh, Sarah Franks," Door said, hesitating, "I have a tree that I can show you on."

Doc started to get suspicious, "What is it that you do for a living, Mr. Door?"

"I'm a professional genealogist," Door said, "And I've finally gotten around to researching this side of my family. I had a vacation, and I decided to visit Hill Valley. I apologize for not phoning ahead—"

"No, no, no, no, no, not at all!" Doc said, "In fact, could you stop by today?"

"Absolutely!" Door said, excited, "When's a good time for you?"

Doc looked over at the autovac and said, "Oh, about two-thirty, I imagine. We're at Number Two, Spyglass Court. Let me give you the directions."

Doc gave Door the directions and said, "So I'll see you at two-thirty. Just knock."

"Thank you, Doctor Brown! Would you mind if I take photos of you and your wife? For the record?"

"Not at all," Doc said, "I'll see you then."

Doc hung up and returned to work on the autovac.

About ten minutes later, another knock at the door of his office came.

Doc set down his soldering iron, "Yes?"

Clara poked her head in the office, "What happened, Emmett?"

"I scheduled a meeting with Mr. Door at two-thirty."

"Today?"

Doc raised an eyebrow, "Yes?"

"Emmett, the house isn't ready for visitors!"

Doc shrugged. Only his lab wasn't neat enough, in his view.

"Clara, dear, the house is fine."

"Ugh!" Clara shouted, turning to leave.

Doc shook his head, and followed, to help her "tidy up" before Mr. Door arrived.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Saturday, June 2, 2001  
2:32 P.M.  
Hill Valley, California

"Nice place you have, Doctor Brown."

"Thank you, Mr. Door," Doc said, shaking Door's hand, "We just bought it last year."

"Mrs. Brown, nice meeting you," Door said as Doc introduced Clara.

"Likewise," Clara said.

After giving him a brief tour of the house, they settled in the dining room, Door sitting across from Clara and Doc. Door set his suitcase on the table and pulled out a color copy of a photograph.

With a brief smile, Door slid it across the table to Clara and Doc. "Do you recognize any of the people in this photograph?"

"Great Scott!" Doc whispered before he could catch himself.

"Golly!" Clara exclaimed, a tad more audible than Doc.

The photo was an old studio photo of—them, Clara and Doc, with Martha and Daniel Clayton, Clara's parents. It was, Doc knew, taken in 1888, given that a baby was in Clara's arms and she was pregnant.

"Is that you?" Door asked.

"Well…" Clara began.

"It _appears _to be," Doc said, "But it can't be. It's clearly a _very_ old photograph."

"It is," Door said, "The note on the back dates it to April 18, 1888."

"Well, there you are!" Doc said forcefully.

Door shook his head, "This photo is part of the Clayton family bible, which is in my possession. According to the notes, it is Clara Clayton, born February 8, 1855, with her husband, Emmett Brown, son Jules, and her parents."

Door stood, "I lied when I said we were third cousins, Doctor Brown. In fact, I am your wife's great great grandnephew. Your wife, who was born in 1_8_55, not 1_9_55 as you all claim."

"That's absurd!" Doc said immediately, while Clara shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"Is it?" Door said as Doc stood as well, "You invented forced fission, a discovery which turned all of physics on its head. It's not that crazy to assume you built a time machine, as well."

"Yes it is!" Doc shouted, desperately.

"I have other evidence," Door said, "For example, according to your TIME Magazine profile, your sons' names are Jules and Verne. Well, there was an Emmett Brown in Hill Valley in the 1880's, who had a wife named Clara, and sons named Jules and Verne!"

And with that, he slid photocopies of their birth certificates across the dining table.

"Verne Newton Brown, born October 29, 1888," Door said, "While your son, who was nearing eleven, I think, when you did that interview with Time, was born on October 29, 1_9_88. Two uncommon names, and I'd bet my _life_ that your son's full name is Jules Eratosthenes, and he was born November 8, 1887!"

Silence.

With a heavy sigh, Clara stood.

"We don't deny anything," Clara said.

"Clara!" Doc hissed.

She held a hand up at her husband, "But, great great grandnephew of mine, what is it you want from us?"

"I want to see my relatives!"

This clearly wasn't the answer either Doc or Clara had expected.

"I'm a genealogist!" Door said, "I've spent my life bonding with names on a tree. I want to see what they were like in life!"

"Absolutely not!" Doc said.

"Emmett!" Clara said, "The man just wants to see his family."

Doc walked around the table and leaned over Door, who was about a foot shorter, "Do you have any idea how dangerous time travel is? And what would you do, _tell_ them?"

"I haven't gotten that far yet," Door said meekly, "I didn't want to get my hopes up."

Clara walked over to her husband and tugged on his sleeve, "Stop intimidating the man, Emmett!"

"I'm not intimidating him!" Doc shouted, insulted at the insinuation that he would resort to brute force.

"Emmett, this man may be my only living family!"

Doc turned to stare at his wife.

"I hadn't thought of that."

"No? It never occurred to you that everyone I knew growing up is long dead? That—"

"I get it!" Doc snapped.

"Do you?" Clara asked.

Feeling uneasy, Door said, "Perhaps we can discuss this more at another time."

"No, that won't be necessary," Doc said, sitting down. The others sat down as well.

"How are you related to me?" Clara asked.

"I'm descended from your brother John, through his son Henry, his daughter Dorothy, and her son James, Junior, my father. My full name is James Edward Door III."

There was another silence, then Doc said, "Who would you like to visit, and when?"

"First off, our common ancestors, Daniel and Martha Clayton. Then, at the very least, I would like photographs of their ancestors."

Doc considered for a moment, "If all you want is photographs, it is possible that a way could be found to obtain covert images of your ancestors."

Door shook his head, "It's not just pictures. There are numerous dead ends on my family tree. I would like to find out what's beyond them. That means going and asking people in the past about their relatives."

He pulled out a family tree from his suitcase and pointed, "See, Mrs. Brown, your line ends with the birth of Paul Clayton, circa 1590. Who were his parents? What did they do for a living? Why did Paul Clayton leave for America? These questions can only be answered by asking him directly."

"Not necessarily," Clara said, "You could search archives in the past."

"You mean in 1590? Perhaps," Door said.

"That's the most I'd feel comfortable with," Doc said.

"Why?" Door asked.

Doc sighed, "It's a very long story. Suffice it to say, time travel to the past is _very_ dangerous. That's why I try to restrict my travels to the future."

Door nodded slowly, "Can you explain it in a bit more detail?"

Briefly, Doc told Door the story of Biff and the Almanac. Door was wide-eyed when he finished.

"I see," Door said, "And, as a neophyte to time travel, you're worried I could do something like that accidentally?"

Doc nodded, "Precisely!"

"Well, I would always travel with your supervision, Dr. Brown. I wouldn't object to that at all."

Doc seemed surprised, "Well, in that event, perhaps I should show you the time machines."

"Really?" Door said, excited.

Doc nodded, "Though we must plan carefully. We will not be leaving tonight."

Though disappointed, Door understood.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Monday, June 4, 2001  
8:23 P.M.  
Hill Valley, California

James Door stood at the door of the Brown mansion, waiting for an answer to his doorbell. After what seemed like several minutes, the door was answered by Doc.

"Jim!" Doc said, "I appreciate you coming over at such a late hour…"

"Not at all, not at all," Door said as he entered the foyer, "I imagine you had a busy day?"

"Precisely!" Doc said, grinning from ear to ear, "EBE just made a deal with the Russian government to dispose of all of its nuclear waste. The deal alone is worth nearly ten billion dollars! And that doesn't include the value of the refined waste products! Moreover, this means that the risk of so-called 'loose nukes' is drastically cut!"

"Congratulations!" Door said, "So what, you guys are gonna be Fortune 500, now?"

"Right!" Doc said as he led Door to his office.

Doc's office was small compared to his lab, which was in another area of the house. He used his office for small tinkering and business work, while the majority of his hands-on inventing was in the lab, near the dining room and kitchen. He also kept the majority of his clocks in the office, leading the family to call it the "clock room."

A table was set up in the middle of the office that wasn't usually there. Spread across it were a number of papers and books, and beneath that a large, detailed map of England.

"The roots of your family trace back to the village of Clayton in West Sussex in the south of England," Doc said, pointing at the spot on the map. "There is a small church there called the Church of St. John the Baptist. I took the liberty of calling their present day counterpart, and I believe that records of interest will be available there around the year 1590."

"1590?" Door asked, "Won't we have to talk like Shakespeare?"

Doc shook his head, pointing at some of the books on the table, "I have been researching the history of the English language and have determined that our accents can pass as being period cockney accents, especially if we give them a bit of a British flair."

He handed Door a VHS tape, "This is a documentary about the British variant of our language. If you can practice a fake accent you should be able to pass. Remember, people in this era rarely left their own village, and would in all probability be unable to recognize the difference between a true accent and a fake one."

"If you say so, Emmett," Door said, tucking the tape under his arm.

"Our cover story," Doc said, "Is that you and I are priests from the London area looking for information about a land deal regarding a former resident of Clayton."

"Sounds like a good plan," Door said, "Say, where's Clara? I was wondering if I could talk to her, ask her a few questions."

"Certainly," Doc said, "She's out in the observatory. I'll take you there."

The Brown property consisted of several buildings: the main house, a large barn which concealed the time machines, and the smallest building, the observatory, which was located on a promontory some distance from the house.

As they walked over, Doc asked, "What was it you wanted to know?"

"Just some details about life in the nineteenth century," Door said, "I mean, I suppose I could ask you, seeing as you lived there as well, but you weren't born and raised there."

Doc nodded in understanding. Soon, they reached the door of the observatory. Doc had to knock three times before Clara said "Come in."

Clara was leaning over a large computer, something that seemed a little _too_ modern to Door's eyes, making him wonder if it was a product of the future. Next to her, in the center of the room, was a very large telescope, nearly ten feet long.

"I'm sorry!" Clara said without looking up from the computer, "I thought I had something. Turns out it was just a very remote galaxy."

"What are you looking for?" Door asked.

Clara started, "Oh, James, I didn't see you there. I'm comet hunting."

Clara turned back to her computer and typed something. She looked up and said, "What brings you here?"

"Jim would like to talk to you for a few minutes about life in the nineteenth century," Doc said.

"Certainly," Clara said, "The computer handles most of the work, anyway."

Door shot Doc a look. Doc nodded slightly and said, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do." Giving his wife a kiss on the cheek, Doc turned and left the observatory.

"So," Door said, pulling over a chair and taking a notebook out of his pocket, "How did you get interested in astronomy?"

"Well, when I was eleven, I had diphtheria and was quarantined for about three months. My father got me my first telescope to occupy my time and, well, it was love at first sight."

"It was very unusual for a woman of your time to have a scientific interest, wasn't it?"

"Oh, definitely," Clara said, "The limits placed on women by society are the one reason I'm rarely homesick. You know, I considered joining the local suffragette's committee back in '86, and then Emmett told me women wouldn't be allowed to vote until 1920!" She laughed, "It seemed kind of pointless, after I heard that."

"Who knows?" Door said, "You could've changed history by joining that committee."

"I know," Clara said, "Emmett was adamant about not doing that. I didn't want to upset the cosmic order and so forth."

Door wrote something in his notepad and said, "You said you're rarely homesick. Can you be a little more specific?"

Clara considered this for a minute. Then she said, "Well, I miss my sister and my brother and my parents. But that's it, really. When I went west back in '85, I had already thought I would never see them again. So I've managed to accept that loss."

Door nodded, "So, comet hunting? You're hoping to find a comet?"

Clara nodded, "They'd call it Comet Brown, I suppose, which sounds rather bland to me. Comet Clayton sounds better, I think."

Door nodded. He agreed, but he didn't say anything.

"So," Door said, "Did you find it hard adjusting to the twenty-first century?"

"Well, I arrived here full time in 1995," Clara said, "And there was some difficulty adapting to modern technology, but with Emmett's help, I learned. The biggest surprise was the noise."

"Noise?"

"Cars and so forth. The nineteenth century was very quiet."

The computer began beeping. Excited, Clara turned to it.

"What is it?" Door asked.

"I think I may have found something."

"Really?"

Clara held up a hand, "It's a bit too early to congratulate me, James. Though my catalogue is extensive, it could still be a known object. Let me e-mail the IAU and…" Clara fell silent, concentrating on her computer. Door waited patiently for her to finish.

"It's not in their catalogues," Clara said excitedly, "Which means it probably _is_ a comet!"

"So now what?" Door asked.

"I'll have other astronomers track the same object and, after several days, we should know whether or not for certain."

Door smiled at her and nodded.

"I must tell Emmett!" Clara said, "Come with me into the house."

Door and Clara left the observatory to give Doc the news.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Thursday, June 7, 2001  
5:55 P.M.  
Hill Valley, California

The object, it turned out, was indeed a comet, if a rather distant and unremarkable one. It received the designation P/2001 L3 and would eventually be known as Comet Clayton. It would reach perihelion, the position closest to the sun, in seventy-nine days.

The occasion called for a celebration—specifically, the opening of a bottle of vintage 1811 Veuve Clicquot, bottled during the appearance of a major comet. Despite its chronological age, the bottle was only around a decade old, thanks to time travel (Doc having purchased it in 1820's France just for the occasion). Even Jules and Verne were allowed a sip—which neither of them liked at all.

Doc had invited everyone he knew. Marty and Jennifer were able to attend, along with their kids, Marly, 4, and Jimmy, 3. Sam Powell was at Princeton getting his PhD and Cindy Cox was at Sacramento State, but using Powell's time machine both were able to attend.

"So, uh, Doc," Marty said, "Congratulations on the Russian deal. I guess you're gonna be _really_ rich now, huh?"

"100 million dollars," Doc said, "Frankly, I have no idea what I'd do with all that money. I can send Jules and Verne to the most expensive college in the world and have ninety-nine percent left over."

"You could always do charity work, like Bill Gates," Marty said.

"Clara's talked about that."

"So," Marty said, "Any chance of getting my own time machine?"

For several years now, Marty had been, for lack of a better word, pestering Doc for his own time machine. Marty would feel better, he said, knowing he could see the future on his own.

"Well," Doc said, "I think I'll have the time this summer. With Sam's assistance, I could build a new DeLorean for you over the course of summer."

"Great, Doc," Marty said. "Cause I miss it, you know? I can't believe I haven't time traveled since that 'incident' with Sam back in '96."

Doc smiled, "Well, you could have a chance soon enough."

"Oh? Where you going, Doc?"

"1590. One of Clara's relatives tracked us down and convinced me to take him there to do some research."

"Holy shit, Doc!" Marty set down his champagne glass, "Are you telling me you're being _blackmailed_?"

"Not at all!" Doc said, "His name's Jim Door, and he's a genealogist." Briefly, Doc explained the situation to Marty.

"Jesus, Doc," Marty said, "I thought you took care of the issue of the records lying around."

"I placed forged birth certificates—forged in the far future, undetectable by modern methods—for Clara, Jules and Verne. I never removed the originals."

"So this guy found the originals," Marty concluded, "Are you sure he's legit?"

"As certain as I can be. What are you thinking?"

"Well," Marty thought for a moment, "What if he's trying to get to the time machines? What if he knocks you out once you're in the air and goes back and, I dunno, kills the president?"

"I think Clara and I have a good read on the man," Doc said, frowning.

"I dunno, Doc," Marty said, "This makes me feel nervous."

"I guess you could accompany us. Watch our backs, that sort of thing," Doc said. "You just complained about not time traveling in five years."

Marty grinned, "That'd be great, Doc! So, when do I meet this guy?"

Doc checked one of his watches, "He was supposed to be here, actually. He was with Clara when she discovered the comet. I can't imagine why…"

The doorbell rang throughout the house.

"I'll answer it!" Doc said, running to the door.

Jim Door was at the door.

"Sorry I'm so late," Door said, "I overslept."

"Overslept?" Doc asked.

Door nodded as Doc closed the door, "I stayed up all night watching that tape on accents and practicing. Here." Door then said in an almost perfect British accent, "The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain."

Doc smiled. "Wonderful. Listen, I'd like you to meet Marty."

"Marty McFly," Marty said, holding out his hand. They shook.

"So you're the first, uh…" Door hesitated.

"World's first time traveler, yeah."

"I was thinking Marty would come along with us," Doc said.

Door shrugged, "Can he do a British accent?"

"What?" Marty asked.

"He'd be there just to watch the time machine," Doc said to Door.

Door shrugged again, "Fine by me. You're the one in charge, Emmett."

Doc smiled, "Well, in that case, we leave tomorrow."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Wednesday, September 2, 1590 (O.S.)  
6:00 A.M. GMT  
Clayton, West Sussex, England

They used the stagecoach time machine that Sam and Doc had swiped from an alternate timeline where Doc was a slave owner. Marty, who was piloting, set the time machine down on a bluff overlooking the town.

Marty was the first to emerge from the time machine. He was dressed in period garb, wearing a red linen shirt with a large ruffled collar, with matching ruffs on the sleeves, a doublet jacket with long sleeves, hose, and a codpiece. Topping it all off was a hat resembling a bowler.

"I hate this codpiece," Marty said.

"You'll have to put up with it," Doc said, following. Doc was dressed similarly, but with a wider ruff and in black, with a large cross pendant.

"It could be worse," Door said, dressed similarly, "These outfits could be neon green with stiletto heels!"

"I'd like to see when anyone would dress like that!" Marty remarked as he closed the time machine's door behind Door.

"Then travel to 2030!" Doc joked.

Marty shook his head and chuckled as Doc led the group into town.

"That's the church over there," Doc said, pointing. "Game faces on."

For such an early hour, a surprising number of people were about. Marty pointed this out to Doc.

Doc shrugged, "Without alarm clocks, people would awake at dawn, which was," he went to check one of his watches, and then realized he took them off to complete the costume. They were stashed in a tool belt hidden under his shirt, where he kept emergency supplies. "About an hour ago. They had chores to do."

The three entered the church. An elderly man greeted them at the door.

"I am Pastor Thomas Marlowe," he said, "Who are you?"

"I am Pastor Emmett Brown," Doc said, "This is Pastor James Door and our manservant, Martin."

"Ah, yes, Pastor Brown. I have been expecting thou." He pronounced "thou", Marty noticed, so that it rhymed with "you."

"Follow me," Marlowe said.

After cleansing themselves with holy water, the three followed Marlowe into the back of the church.

"What does he mean 'I have been expecting thou'?" Marty whispered.

"I've been time traveling. I sent a letter from London asking permission using the archives."

"Ah."

"Here are our archives," Marlowe said, "I trust you not to harm anything. If you need anything, your manservant can ask me."

He bowed and left.

"And 'manservant'?" Marty exclaimed, "When were you gonna tell me I was your manservant?"

"Marty, please," Doc said as Door excitedly opened the first box of records.

* * *

Marlowe poked his head in every once in a while to ask if he could be of any assistance. If he noticed any of the advanced technology Door was using, such as a scanner, he didn't indicate it. Marty, meanwhile, had questions, for example why Marlowe alternated between "thou" and "you" ("One's singular, the other plural," Doc had said).

"Thou must hath a truly awesome task ahead of you!" Marlowe noted when he saw all the boxes Door was going through.

"'Tis no other way to do it, sir," Door said.

Accepting that, Marlowe left.

"I'm done here," Door said as he replaced the last box, "It's been wonderful! I've traced the Claytons back an additional eight generations!"

"Congratulations!" Doc said, patting him on the back.

"Uh, Jim," Marty asked, "Were they called the 'Claytons' back then…er, now? I mean, it's the name of the whole town."

"No," Door said, "They were the _Barons _of Clayton; their surname was originally Montfort."

As they left, they found Marlowe blocking the door. Two soldiers were flanking him.

"Is something wrong, sir?" Doc asked.

"Indeed," Marlowe said, "Wouldst thou care to repeat thy name and thy purpose for being here?"

Suspicious, Doc said, "We are Pastors Emmett Brown and James Door, researching a land deal being transacted in London."

Marlowe sighed, "In that case, you are under arrest."

Soldiers surrounded them.

Stunned, it was Marty who first spoke, "What for?"

"For impersonating men of God to access private records," the lead soldier said, tying ropes around Doc's hands.

"We're not impersonating anyone!" Doc said.

"The Bishop in London wrote to me," Marlowe said, "That there are no men of the names Emmett Brown or James Door in his bishopric!"

Doc gulped, audibly.

"What are you going to do to us?" Marty asked.

A soldier gave him a funny look—perhaps related to his accent, "Thou'rt to be held in the local jail pending further questioning. Follow me."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Wednesday, September 2, 1590  
8:46 P.M.  
Clayton, West Sussex, England

The soldiers were shocked. It wasn't a jail that they were leading the three men to—it was a two room shack! They were met by Edward, Lord Clayton—Door's and Clara's ancestor. Lord Clayton read the charges against them and had them locked in the smaller room with a small window near the top. A single soldier was left guarding.

Marty paced the small cell where he, Doc, and Door were being held.

"Dammit, Doc!" he shouted, "What are we gonna do? Are we gonna be drawn and quartered?"

"Likely just flogged," Doc said after a moment's thought.

"Just?" Door shouted, "_Just_ flogged? God damn it, Emmett, would—"

"Everyone be quiet!" Doc shouted back, "And period accents, remember?"

"All right, let me think!" Doc said, standing up and pacing, "The walls of this building seem weak. Perhaps thatch. We could—no, wait, they're wood. Hm. Well, there's no floor, so we could dig our way out. No, there's not enough time to do it without being caught."

Doc fell silent but continued pacing.

"I've got it!" Doc said. He reached underneath his shirt and pulled out of his tool belt what looked like a laser pointer, "I can use this laser to cut the wood, enlarging the window enough to let us slip through."

"What about my things?" Door asked, "The soldier out there has my bag."

Doc reached under his shirt again and pulled out the sleep inducer. He explained to Door what it did.

Firing the laser, Doc slowly burned through the wood around the window, cutting off a large piece. It fell to the dirt floor with a soft thud.

"Jim, hold that piece, would you," Doc whispered. Door did so, and Doc cut loose another piece. Door set it on a cot on the floor.

"Okay, now what?" Door asked.

"Marty, you're the only one small enough to fit through," Doc said. "We'll hoist you up, then you come round the other side and open the door. Here's the sleep inducer, to take care of the guard."

They hoisted Marty through the opening. With a thud, Marty fell to the dirt on the outside.

"I'm okay!" he whispered, "Jesus, it's dark out here."

"Most people are asleep," Doc said, "Like when I told you about the people in the morning."

"Right. Just a second."

"What art thou doing?" the guard yelled, having heard Marty fall. As he got up, Marty ran around to the other side of the jail, grabbed the guard, spun him around, and flashed the sleep inducer in his eyes.

The guard fell to the floor.

"We're clear," Marty said through the door, "I've just got to find the keys."

A few minutes later, the door opened, Marty twirling the ring of keys around his finger.

"What about my paperwork?" Door asked.

"Got it," Marty said as the others left the cell.

The town was, true to Marty's words, pitch dark. Even if the soldier had sounded the alarm, it would have been almost impossible to find them.

They reached the stagecoach's landing area without being caught.

"Alright, Doc," Marty said, "Let's decloak this thing and get the hell out of here."

"You have the keys, Marty," Doc said.

"Oh, _shit_!" Marty said, patting his doublet, "I think I dropped them when I came out of the window."

"Oh god," Door said.

"Wait!" Marty said, "Here they are."

"Jesus, Marty, don't do that!" Doc hissed.

"Sorry," Marty said, deactivating the cloaking device and opening the door.

"Let's go home," he said.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Friday, June 8, 2001  
3:02 P.M.  
Hill Valley, California

Fortunately, everything at home was as they left it. Clara and Jennifer were waiting at the Brown mansion for the stagecoach and their return.

"How'd it go?" Clara asked.

"Hmph," was Doc's response.

"We were arrested," Marty said, unbuttoning his doublet, "Somehow, the pastor found out we weren't legit."

"My God, Marty, were you alright?" Jennifer asked, going to his side, visions of medieval torture chambers on her mind.

"We got by fine," Door said, picking up his suitcase, "We were held in a small jail but escaped. I just wonder how he was able to find out."

"My fault entirely," Doc said as the stagecoach drove itself into the barn, a rather handy feature Doc wished he could claim as his own invention. It was apparently a standard feature of the cars of its home timeline, "I underestimated the speed at which news and particularly letters could move in the Elizabethan era."

"I'm just glad you're alright," Clara said, kissing Doc on the cheek. Turning to Door, she asked, "Did you get the documents you were looking for?"

"Yes!" Door said excitedly, "I traced our family back an additional eight generations! I even met one of our ancestors—of course, he was imprisoning us, but still!"

Clara laughed, "Well, congratulations."

"Thank you, Emmett," Door said, turning to him, "Thank you for this opportunity."

"You're quite welcome."

* * *

A few days later, Jim Door called Doc from his home in Seattle.

"How are things?" Doc asked.

"Good, good," Door said, somewhat distracted by his other research, "But I think I'm done with time travel."

"Oh?" Doc asked, "Don't you want to know more?"

"Well, yes, but frankly it seems way too dangerous," Door said. "And at any rate, it's not like I can show my findings to anybody! I don't need to know everything!"

Doc had to agree to that, "So, what now?"

"I'll keep in touch," Door said, "And keep the family secret."

"You mean the time machines."

"Exactly. Thanks for your help."

"You're quite welcome, Jim."

James hung up the phone and got back to work.

THE END

(for now)


End file.
